Sedition
by lithugraph
Summary: sedition: (noun) - overt conduct or speech inciting people to rebel against the authority of a state or monarch. A series of vignettes detailing some of the well-known uprisings within the Eastern Bloc as seen from Lithuania's point of view.
1. Chapter 1 - Prelude

**Prelude**

**October 1944**

He's crouched in a gully, his back pressing against the wall of cool, damp earth. The creek that ran through this wood dried up about a decade ago, but Lithuania still feels it – or he thinks he can, at least. Really it's just the soil, wet from last night's rain, leaching through his uniform shirt. Lithuania presses his back further into the soft earth. He wishes he could just disappear into it. It is comforting, stabilizing, a reminder of gentler times when he used to spend his days tilling farm fields – and he needs that comforting stability for what he's about to do.

The silty loam behind him hardens, forming an impression of his back. A statement. A remnant. That he _was here_. That he _did_ _something_.

It is a transitory thing, surely to disappear the moment he leads his men over the gully wall, ambushing the approaching Soviet soldiers. But…for now, it exists. As proof.

Lithuania leans his head back. A few crumbs of dirt break loose. They trickle down his shirt collar, tickling his scarred and beaten back. But Lithuania tries not to think about that just now. Instead he focuses on the distant footsteps, the crunching of leaves. His men look at him expectantly. Lithuania gives the slightest shake of his head, presses his finger to his lips. It is too early. He can tell from the careless tread of the soldiers' footfalls the Soviets are not expecting them. If they show themselves too soon, the casualties would be far too great. They are outnumbered and outgunned. Surprise is the only weapon they have.

Lithuania closes his eyes and counts. One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. The Soviets are one hundred meters and closing. Three one-thousand. Four. He inhales the musty smell of earth and leaves. Five one-thousand. Six one-thousand. He pulls out the small golden cross he wears and kisses it, then tucks it back down his shirt collar. Seven one-thousand. Eight. Lithuania tightens his grip on the rifle, ready to jam the stock into his shoulder pocket and fire the moment he is over the small hill….

_Dievas! How did I end up here?_ Lithuania thinks.

Nine one-thousand. Ten one-thousand.

Another absurd thought enters his head: For over two hundred years, they had ruled together.

Eleven one-thousand. Twelve….

'_You fucking coward!'_ The voice echoes from his memory.

Poland.

Lithuania's eyes fly open. His heart pounds in his throat. For a moment he forgets where he is – until he sees one of his men frantically signaling him. The Soviets are less than fifty meters away. Lithuania nods, wipes the sweat from his brow and tries to regain his focus, but he has not thought about that – about Poland – since the ultimatum. And here he is, fighting again – the one thing he swore he would never do….

Well.

Sometimes….

These things must be done.

Lithuania inhales deeply, wets his lips, and signals his men. They are to wait until after a count of five to follow him. He is determined. This cannot fail. Not now. Not while Russia is otherwise preoccupied.

Lithuania snatches up his rifle and scrambles up the gully wall.

At first, the Soviets didn't know what to make of him. He stands before them, wearing a Soviet Lieutenant's uniform, holding a rifle. They must think he is lost.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" one of them calls in Russian. "We could have shot you."

"Maybe you should have," he answers in his native tongue.

And before the reality of his words has a chance to sink in, Lithuania grimly shoulders his rifle and shoots.

.

.

.

At night, they shelter in a barn. The family that owns it are partisan sympathizers and Lithuania and his men are fed exceptionally well.

Later, when the men are all asleep, Lithuania sneaks out. He cannot sleep. He blames it on the cloying stench of moldy hay, but that is not the real reason. It is not the smell that suffocates him but his thoughts.

He lays down in the grass, the earth solid and unmoving against his back, and looks up at the stars.

For over two hundred years, they had ruled together.

He remembers the last words he said to Poland.

'_You can't just, like, declare neutrality. I need your help, Liet.'_

_Lithuania sits, absently twirling the cross he always wears – the one Poland gave him following their last failed attempt to overthrow Russia._

_Poland taps his foot impatiently. 'Why are you doing this? We're fighting the same guy. Or have you forgotten?'_

'_I know who I'm fighting,' Lithuania finally says, fixing his old ally with a hard look._

'_So…then, you'll help?'_

'_No.'_

'_What? Why? Stop being stubborn – '_

'_Give me back my capital,' Lithuania says quietly._

'_Psh. _Your_ capital,' Poland scoffs. 'No way. Wilno is, like, one hundred percent Polish. Besides, _I_ took it back from that fucking Russian. So therefore I win.'_

'_Then I remain neutral.'_

'_You fucking coward!' Poland fumes, stomps his foot. 'You're just gonna let Russia roll right on in and take whatever he wants again, aren't you? You may claim to want independence, but I think you like being his little bitch.'_

'_We are done here,' Lithuania says, his voice a deadly whisper. He rises from his chair, gestures to the door. 'I have no words for you.'_

_Poland's eyes narrow ever so slightly. 'Fine. I guess that's it, then.' He turns on his heel and leaves without a backward glance._

_He and Lithuania will not speak face to face for another eighteen years after that – when Poland offers up an ultimatum and demands they re-establish diplomatic relations._

Lithuania closes his eyes.

_Tensions between the two of them have started to ease up at that point – but closed doors conceal secret meetings and he and Poland become nothing but unwitting pieces in a much larger game. Invasion and reorganization and occupation. And somehow through the careful dance of figurines across a chessboard, he belongs to Russia once again. _

_For four years, he has lived with Russia. But things are different now. Russia is not the same Russia as before. In the rare times Russia is home from the war or meetings, Lithuania can see it. There is something missing. Confusion where there once was depth. Paranoia where there once was child-like trust. Lithuania could sense a change coming even as the last century came to a close. He remembers the revolutions (his in 1863 and Russia's in 1905 and again in 1917) – and the scars on his back prickle at the very thought. So he does the only thing he knows how: take orders and obey. It is a course of action that has proven if not ideal then at least adequate in the past. _

_The first years back with Russia pass in a haze of blind servitude. Lithuania does not question, only does whatever is asked of him. Latvia and Estonia take longer to adjust, but they eventually do. With his help. And the weeks without Russia are a blessing. Lithuania selfishly hopes the war will never end._

_Then one day in August, Russia calls him in for a private meeting. Lithuania feels his stomach sink, knowing what that most likely will entail. He does not expect, however, for Russia to present him with a Soviet uniform – not just any uniform, but an officer's. Russia tells him of the partisan fighting happening in Lithuania's homeland and gives him one order: _

"_Handle it. Or _I_ will, Lieutenant."_

_He thrusts the uniform and a rifle at Lithuania. The Baltic runs his hand down the worn wooden gunstock. He has been with Russia long enough to know this is a far cry from gaining his trust – just the opposite, in fact. This is a test. One Lithuania plans to fail._

"_I trust you know how to use one of those," Russia says, indicating the rifle._

"_Ye-yes," Lithuania nods._

"_Then why are you still here? Get to the train station!" Russia barks._

_Lithuania scurries from the room and sets off to join his countrymen. It takes quite a deal of convincing, but he manages to earn the partisans' trust and is determined to stay with them for as long as he can. _

Lithuania's eyes flutter open. Slowly, he pushes himself off the ground. The night has turned colder and his breath comes out in little puffs of condensed air. He stares off into the tree line, watching the shadows play as the moon slides in and out of clouds.

He remembers the soldier he shot.

And the cold that numbs him is not the surrounding air. This new, modern century has been nothing but turmoil and he is sick of it. Sick of fighting, sick of wars. But, until his sovereignty can be regained, he will occupy two worlds: union and independence, complacency and revolution. He only hopes it doesn't tear him apart the way it did Russia.

Lithuania reaches for a cigarette and wonders if he is a good person.


	2. Chapter 2 - 1948

**March, 1948**

He's been summoned to Russia's office, and he has every idea why. Each _clack_ of a booted heel against the highly polished wood floor is a death knell…is a nail being driven into his own coffin.

It's the partisans, Lithuania knows. He was ordered to quash their guerilla rebellion shortly after it started. The resistance was little more than an irksome gnat to a nation as large as Russia even though it was decimating Lithuania's population. At the time, Russia probably arrogantly thought his own forces could easily overcome the rebels and left it at that, turning his attention back to considerably more important things, like crushing Germany and his pact-breaking Führer. But what began as disorganized groups hiding in the woods, resisting Red Army conscription and Soviet repression, has become something more. The fly buzzing around Russia's head is proving more bothersome than originally thought.

Lithuania tries not to sweat, tries to retain his composure as he nears the office door, but his skin itches beneath his uniform shirt. The cuffed sleeves feel like manacles around his wrists. The starched collar digs into his throat. Lithuania pulls at it, trying to loosen the stiff fabric, as he pushes open the door. He doesn't bother to knock. Knocking would imply his visit is friendly when it is anything but. He is there at Russia's behest.

Russia sits behind a heavy oak desk. His eyes flick up the moment Lithuania enters. The rest of his head slowly follows until the deadened purple gaze is fully locked on the Baltic standing in front of him.

Spread on the desk before him are various files and folders. Paper-clipped to the topmost of which is a black and white photograph of the bloodied face of a captured partisan staring lifelessly up.

Russia folds his hands on the desktop, leans forward ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving Lithuania's. Lithuania realizes the much larger nation has not blinked once since he stepped into the office. And then it hits him….

Russia's eyes aren't dead, Lithuania thinks. They are alive-alive and watching and trained on his prey. The eyes of a snake. No. Not just a snake. A _viper_. They are steady, hypnotic, demanding the truth.

Lithuania's shirt collar is tight again. He is afraid of what will happen if he tries to speak, but is blessedly spared croaking out any perfunctory acknowledgements by a low rumble from Russia.

"I offered your people amnesty, did I not?"

It is a rhetorical question Lithuania knows not to answer.

Russia studies Lithuania some more, the unnerving quiet broken only by the long, audible breath Russia exhales through his crooked nose. It had been broken in the war and Russia, for reasons known only to him, never got it fixed. Not only did it cause Russia's breathing to become louder and more resonant, it also became a source of amusement for the three Baltics – Latvia especially, who calls Russia "The Walking Picasso" behind the large nation's back. Oftentimes Lithuania finds himself staring at it, wondering which nation did it. For some reason his brain always conjures up alternating images of Prussia or Hungary smashing the butt of their rifle into Russia's face….

Noting his words have not yet spurred a reaction in Lithuania, Russia wets his lips indifferently, lets his gaze shift down to his desk, and picks up the top file.

"And now we have this." Russia's eyes scan the document. "It seems your partisans have organized into something they call – " Russia's lip curls up in an awful sneer – "'Freedom Fighters'." He tosses the file with lazy disregard back onto the desk and laces his fingers once more.

It is this act – this marked act of disrespect – that triggers something in Lithuania as he stares down at the black and white photo. His collar no longer feels as tight.

"Well?" Russia prompts.

Lithuania lifts his gaze to meet Russia's. "Well what?" he says. His voice is small but there is temerity behind it and it surprises him when he speaks.

Russia huffs in a momentary loss of composure. "Do you know why this is distressing to me?" Lithuania's impudence is testing the limits of his already limited patience. It would be much easier to reach just across the desk and throttle him….

Lithuania keeps his face impassive, offers no answers.

Russia sucks in a noisy noseful of air. "Aside from your deliberate disobedience, you sought to undermine Soviet authority – _my_ authority – by aiding and allowing these actions to continue, unchecked, while my back was turned."

"How can I control what my people do when I'm not even allowed to live among them? How can I control what my people do when they are hardly my people anymore?" The words tumble out of Lithuania's mouth before he can stop them and hang in the dead air between them.

Russia cocks his head to one side, looks at Lithuania as if he is some mildly curious specimen. His eyes narrow, ever so slightly, daring the Baltic to say more. And Lithuania does.

"You've changed them. You've taken my language, my culture, and left me with nothing. This falls on you – "

Russia is on his feet, his hand flying across Lithuania's face. Lithuania stumbles to the side, his hand automatically reaching for his smarting cheek. He keeps his face averted, the stinging weal hidden behind a curtain of brown hair.

Russia is about to sit back down when he sees something glinting against Lithuania's neck. "What is that?"

Lithuania picks his head up, wondering what Russia is looking at. Before he can move, Russia has come around the desk, leaving barely a foot of space between himself and the Baltic. His thick fingers lift the golden chain sticking up out of Lithuania's shirt collar.

"What is that?" Russia says again.

At the end of the chain is a small gold cross. Russia holds it flat in his palm, eyes narrowing slightly. His breathing is loud and grating and Lithuania wants so badly to punch him in the nose, to break it again and again, but he just stands there, muscles tense and alert, his flight instinct taking over.

Russia closes his hand around the small cross, his fist dangerously close to Lithuania's throat. He tilts the Baltic's head up with his other hand. Lithuania clenches his jaw and swallows past the jagged lump growing in his throat. It is a funny shape, he can almost see it – a ragged hill covered in crosses of all shapes and sizes. He desperately wants to look away, but to do so would mean instant death. He must hold the viper's gaze. And he does. Somehow, he does.

Their eyes lock once more. And Russia's contain a depth – one that Lithuania has not seen for over a century. The cold, calculating look of a viper ready to strike has disappeared and in its place is a memory. For a moment he is a child again. A child surrounded by books and books and books. And monks. Living in one of Yaroslav's monasteries centuries and centuries back. Before communism, before imperialism, before the invasion of the Golden Horde….

Russia closes his eyes, presses his forehead against Lithuania's. His breathing, Lithuania notes, has quieted.

Russia pulls away moments later. He opens his eyes. The cloud of Communism and secrecy obscures them again.

Then he does something wholly unexpected. He pulls Lithuania close, embracing him with one arm while the other holds onto the golden cross.

"You know these are forbidden," he says in a low voice, his lips barely moving as they brush Lithuania's ear.

The Baltic suppresses a shudder. Every nerve is focused on what Russia will do next.

Lithuania feels the chain tighten. He flinches, ready to feel its bite as Russia rips it from his neck. Instead, Russia flattens his palm and stares at the cross again, briefly, before tucking it back down Lithuania's shirt. He adjusts the collar, further hiding the chain, and Lithuania can't help but flinch again as Russia's fingers brush his throat.

Russia frowns, steps back, and looks at him. Lithuania stares resolutely at some invisible spot on Russia's overcoat, refusing to meet his gaze. Russia's eyes shift from Lithuania's emotionless face, coming to rest on a point just beyond his shoulder. He lets out a heavy breath and utters one colorless command: "Go."

Lithuania obeys.


	3. Chapter 3 - 1953

**June, 1953**

He's been summoned to Russia's office, though he has no idea why. Behind the oak desk, Russia glares at him as he enters, holding the phone receiver in one hand, away from his ear. And Lithuania can hear why. Prussia – East, he quietly corrects himself – is shouting all manner of profanities. It's nothing new, but amid choice swears and garbled Russian, Lithuania distinctly hears "I've _been_ trying to handle it! What the fuck do you think I've been doing!?" And suddenly Lithuania knows why he's there. Russia's eyes narrow at the look of comprehension Lithuania just knows is spreading across his own face. The look Russia gives him asks the unsaid question: _You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?_

Lithuania has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out at the absurdity. Russia knows the partisan fighters all but disbanded last year. The remainder gave themselves up after Russia offered another amnesty following Stalin's death in March. Lithuania thinks there might still be some diehards holding out in the forests, but he isn't about to divulge that information. But the partisan war (and the Baltics' defiance) is still fresh in Russia's mind and is something he likes to drag out to hold over their heads whenever situations arise. And he still, _still_ has the problem of seeing plots everywhere – a regrettable parting gift from his recently deceased leader. So, it should not surprise Lithuania, really, that Russia has somehow connected the uprisings in East Berlin back to him and his failed guerilla war.

Lithuania sniffs, tries to appear nonchalant as his stiff posture relaxes into an almost bored slouch. _Don't be stupid_ Lithuania's face says. _You've kept me under such tight surveillance,_ he mentally adds, trying to keep that bitter thought from showing.

Russia eyes him a moment longer. The other end of the phone has gone quiet. East is waiting for his response. Slowly, Russia brings the phone up to his ear. He cups his hand over the mouthpiece, speaks so low that Lithuania can't see or hear what he says.

Lithuania's fingers itch. He's desperate for a cigarette, knows he should quit, he really should, but the truth is he'd sooner suck down that stinking Soviet shit right now than the alternative...though he hasn't completely discounted the notion Russia doesn't have something planned for later. The usual appeasement. Lithuania's mouth runs dry at the thought. Even though he hasn't _done_ anything. This time.

While he waits for the conversation to be over, Lithuania feels his eyes slide out of focus, his face adopting a vacant look that makes Russia sometimes lash out and accuse him of noncompliance. But he is not trying to be disobedient. He is just too drained to care.

It is the second day of the worker's revolt in East Berlin. In all of East Germany. The unrest has spread beyond the capital, touching all major cities and industrial centers. But Russia's problems don't just end there. Ever since Stalin's death three months ago, there has been a power struggle to claim his vacant spot.

After what seems like an hour waiting in tense silence, Russia finally hangs up the receiver. It's only been about five minutes, but Lithuania knows from experience being in Russia's presence, time has the inexplicable ability to slow to a crawl.

Lithuania straightens his back, wondering (hoping) he's about to be dismissed when Russia rests his elbows on his desk and steeples his fingers, studying the Baltic with a serene look that doesn't quite hide his mistrust. Lithuania groans internally. He's familiar enough with their silent exchanges to know he hasn't done enough to assuage Russia's paranoia. Lithuania's eyes flutter closed. He clenches his jaw, steeling himself.

When he opens his eyes again, it is to find Russia cradling his head with both hands, his eyes wide and staring at his desk as if he could somehow see through it. Lithuania wonders briefly what's happening, wonders if it's another back-stabbing triumvirate falling apart, wonders who will emerge as leader this time. Russia, Lithuania suddenly realizes, is being pulled in eight different directions. He may have a right, then, to be paranoid.

Russia blinks, comes to himself, and dismisses Lithuania with the wave of a hand.

Lithuania gladly steps out into the hall, runs his hand over his tense neck, feels the pull of a metal chain. Shit. He should have taken it off that day Russia found it. He was lucky, then, that Russia had been in one of his more cogent moods. But today….If Russia had found it today, he surely would have sent the Baltic off to Siberia. Lithuania just forgets he wears it. It's a part of him. One of the last few things he can hold onto.

Lithuania closes his eyes again, presses his back against the wall. His head tilts up, his mouth forming silent words in a language he is forbidden to speak.

When he is done, Lithuania listens hard for any sound, any indication he may have been seen or overheard. But Russia's house is disturbingly quiet.

His trembling fingers fumble with the tiny clasp and Lithuania has to more than once stop himself from yanking the damn cross off his own neck. He finally manages to undo it and slips the thin chain into his hand. He curls his fingers tightly around it, the cross' small metal edges digging into his palm, and shoves his fist in his pocket. His need for a smoke has increased two-fold and he heads for the courtyard behind Russia's house, his fist still clamped firmly around the forbidden object in his pocket.

.

.

.

It is well after midnight, but Lithuania does not sleep. The reason is the loud breathing coming from the nation curled against him. Russia's breath is hot against the back of Lithuania's neck, his arm heavy as it rests on Lithuania's side. Even if the large nation had not decided to share his bed that night, Lithuania doubt he would have been able to sleep anyway. Russia is worried. And angry. And given the current state of things, has every right to be. Lithuania tries not to begrudge him that. Still, he wishes Russia could find a more…constructive…method for dealing with his issues instead of clamping down harder. A moment of confusion followed by blind rage and Russia was all set to head to East Germany that afternoon, ready to settle the uprising the only way he knows how, but East again insisted he had it under control. But Russia still demanded Lithuania dust off his old lieutenant uniform "just in case." Lithuania didn't much fancy making an impromptu trip (nor did he much feel like facing East) and was secretly thankful the German managed to somehow mollify their boss a second time. Lithuania knows how the rest of the Eastern Bloc countries see him: Russia's pet. The Favorite. He's even caught Estonia and Latvia watching him a little too closely and muttering under their breath when they thought him out of earshot. They have it all wrong, Lithuania thinks. If only they knew. He is probably the least trusted of all. That's why Russia keeps him so close.

Lithuania tries to adjust his position, but Russia's arm is so damn heavy. He gives up and just stares off into the darkness.

Across from his bed stands his bureau, and in it, his secret: his golden cross, hidden away. He should have just taken it to the Hill and left it with all the others when he had the chance. That's what it was meant for, why Poland gave it to him. But instead he stubbornly held onto it. Lithuania doesn't quite know why. Maybe because he thinks one day he'll make it back there.

Russia shifts in his sleep. The heavy arm has been lifted, and Lithuania can breathe a little easier. Lithuania shuts his eyes and tries to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4 - 1956

**November, 1956**

He's in Budapest, commanding a division of Soviet Armed Forces. The stars on his dress uniform collar mark him as a senior lieutenant. Russia has ordered him to help put an end to Hungary's revolution. Lithuania knows what awaits him should he fail to comply. The scars on his back are only a taste of what Russia can (and will) do. The gun in his hand may as well be the one pointed at his head.

Three days ago, following an effective cease-fire and withdrawal, he had been routed back to Budapest and ordered to re-take a bridgehead over the Danube. From there, he was ordered to help quell the resistance fighting in Csepel. He took a bullet to the shoulder and another one in the side. He was just finishing getting patched up when he received notice from Russia to join him in overseeing the appointment of the new president.

And now here he stands, beside Russia, in the Parliament building as the new president is sworn in, though the previous government is still in control. It's all rushed formalities and pseudo-transference of puppet power. And there's Russia, standing tall and proud at attention and flexing arm muscles through a military coat that is all but bursting at the seams. It has never fit him properly. And Lithuania hates it. Not the coat, but all the unnecessary pomp and circumstance. His wounds are still healing. His left arm is in a sling and he's trying to breathe gingerly and shallow for the slowly healing bullet hole in his side. And all he can think about is how much he wishes he could be resting in the hospital in bed instead of watching this.

Hungary is there. She stands opposite them under heavy guard, her hands bound behind her back. She looks thinner than he remembers, but somehow Lithuania doesn't find that as shocking as perhaps he should. What does surprise him, however, is his own cynicism. It's reality. Food lines and food shortages are common where they live. Her eyes are sunken and hollow but they burn with a ferocity that can never be extinguished and he suddenly knows without a doubt why Austria loved her. Lithuania blinks to keep from gawking. He notices faded discolorations mottling her skin. He hopes the bruises were from the war and not mistreatment at the hands of any of the men. Lithuania presses his lips into a grim line at the thought as he takes in the rest of her injuries. Thankfully they are nothing major (he's fairly certain he'll be in enough deep shit with Austria when and if they ever manage to scrounge their freedom). Her lip is cut and still bleeding and her cheek is swollen either from a fist or the butt of a rifle. Her brown hair falls about her in tangled waves. Her uniform is spattered with dirt and blood that is not hers. Every so often, she shoots a deadly glare at Russia. Her sharp eyes become even more lethal when they land on Lithuania, and he feels her mentally kill him a thousand times over. Lithuania looks away, tries not to look ashamed, but he can't help his right hand from fidgeting nervously with his sidearm, cocking and uncocking the pistol.

Once the proceedings are over, Hungary is led away and Lithuania is dismissed to return to his unit. She is led past him on her way to god knows where. Lithuania catches her eye and she slows and Russia's back is turned and he so desperately wants to tell her he is nothing like the monster he serves. His mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out. Her eyes narrow. She turns her head to continue on and it is then Lithuania remembers the cross around his neck – his secret rebellion.

"Wait!" he croaks out.

Hungary turns. The guards' hands fly to their sidearms but soon relax at the look Lithuania gives them. They become at ease but watchful as he approaches the prisoner. Lithuania cocks his head and the guards know to afford them a moment of privacy.

Hungary's eyes burn a fierce green as she watches Lithuania. She doesn't trust him and she has every reason not to. Lithuania tries to smile to set her at ease, but it becomes a grimace of pain as the hole in his side protests at his shift in weight. He clenches his jaw and hurriedly reaches for the cross around his neck. But it is not there. Lithuania's eyes widen in panic when he remembers he took it off and hid it from Russia three years ago. He mouths wordlessly again as his hand claws his neck. Hungary's eyes narrow to slits, thinking he may be mocking her. With a shake of her head, she haughtily tosses her unkempt hair over her shoulders, draws herself up to her full height, and spits at Lithuania's feet. Bloody saliva spatters his boot toe. Lithuania's mouth closes and for a moment, they just glare at each other.

The guards turn back around, see the bloody spit marring Lithuania's boot, and fist their hands in Hungary's hair. She yelps in pain as her head snaps back. Lithuania tries to stop them, but they are already leading her forcibly away.

Still he wonders if he's a good person.


	5. Chapter 5 - 1976

**June, 1976**

"Lieutenant."

Lithuania feels himself inwardly cringe as his assistant addresses him. A part of him, a tiny part that he hates acknowledging, whispers it's because he's spent thirty-goddamn-long years in Russia's service and he's still – _still_ – a fucking lieutenant! He's watched countless captains, colonels, and generals come and go and celebrated every single one of their promotions with a glass of vodka and an appropriately glazed smile. But he is still only a lieutenant. And the old strategist in him knows why. Because he knows Russia. And Russia knows better than to give Lithuania any more power than he currently possesses. Russia might have another uprising to deal with. Lithuania smirks, laughs inwardly at the thought, and continues filling out his report, his assistant momentarily forgotten, until:

"Lieutenant. Sir."

Lithuania's pen ceases its writing momentarily. His lips pucker in a disapproving frown. "What?" he growls, not bothering to tack on the required "comrade" designation.

His assistant wets his lips and clears his throat, obviously miffed by the rude reception. "...He wants to see you, sir."

Lithuania's pen pauses again, his face taking on a somewhat ashen color as he asks: "Who?"

"Russia's 'guest,' sir."

Lithuania breathes a relieved sigh as he rakes a hand through his hair. "Fine. Send him in," he says, unaware he's already reaching for his cigarette case and lighter. He adds a hasty "Comrade," followed by a nod to his assistant, who disappears through the office door. But the full weight of what his assistant just said hits Lithuania and he desperately wants to recall the man. Russia's "guest" can only mean one person, and Lithuania finds himself wishing it was Russia paying him a visit and not the nation his assistant returns with a moment later: a short man with shoulder length blonde hair. Poland's hands are handcuffed in front of him.

It's been nearly forty years since the last time he saw his former ally, and even that was on less than friendly terms. To say their relationship has been strained in this modern era would be a gross understatement. Still, he can't help but wonder why now, of all times, Poland wishes to see him. He's aware, of course, of the country's countless revolts – worker strikes, food strikes. Poland has always been an agitator, Lithuania knows, but now it seems he's on the fast track to replacing France as Europe's number one protester. And every time he does, it seems all he ever receives in return is a slap on the wrist or a week in solitary confinement. Maybe because all Poland's protests ever amount to is working men against the government. He would never take on Russia outright. Not now. He just likes making trouble. And then he gets to go back home. To his own country, his own land. Unlike Lithuania, he is a satellite state, not a Soviet republic. Unlike Lithuania, he's not stuck in Moscow. Unlike Lithuania, he's not serving as Russia's subordinate. Lithuania would be lying if he said it's not a hard pill to swallow.

He watches Poland enter. The twinge of sympathy he feels is very real. Poland is thin – thinner than Hungary. Dark circles mar his eyes and his clothes hang off him in rags. But then Lithuania notices the freshly painted pink fingernails and has to suppress a smile despite his irritation.

With a few quick glances and nods, Lithuania instructs his assistant to have Poland sit in the chair opposite his desk and then to leave them the room. Silent communication. Lithuania is a master at it.

Poland smirks, seeing the other half of their former Commonwealth seated behind a Soviet desk, wearing a Soviet uniform.

"So. It's, like, totally true." Poland cocks an eyebrow, his grin becoming a little less smug and little more lewd as he watches Lithuania inhale a lungful of smoke.

Lithuania furrows his brow. "What is?"

"You've totally become Russia's little bitch."

Lithuania's face hardens. "I have no words for you." He reaches for the intercom to call his assistant and have Poland escorted out, when the blonde nation holds up his bound hands in a staying gesture.

"Wait. Please, Liet. I – " Poland cuts himself off, and it's clear from the look on his face he doesn't know how to continue.

Lithuania leans back in his chair, stubs out his cigarette and promptly lights another. They had ruled together for over two hundred years. They had fought Russia together. And then Lithuania had the audacity to want independence and they suddenly didn't know how to talk to one another (sometimes late at night, Lithuania wonders if they ever did).

Poland coughs, clears his throat, and shakes his hair out of his eyes, opting for the air of casual indifference that has suited him in past negotiations.

"So, like, my train leaves in an hour and, y'know, I wanted to...to see how you were and stuff." Poland pretends to examine a painted nail, casting a furtive glance up.

Lithuania shrugs his shoulders, spreads his hands as if to say _It is what it is_.

Poland lets out a puff of a laugh, picks at his fingernail, and chews his bottom lip. The clock on the wall ticks away loudly.

They are on the same side over here and Lithuania shouldn't be mad, but a part of him – that same part that bristles every time he's called "Lieutenant" – wants to be. Instead he opts for deflection. He has always been good at turning a conversation around. And he knows Poland would much rather talk about himself anyway. Always has. He gets up, goes around his desk, and leans against it, arms folded, staring down at the skinny Pole.

"What was it this time?" Lithuania asks, nodding at Poland's cuffed hands.

"Price increases," Poland mumbles. "Especially food. People can't afford it, but my government's fucking broke."

"Double edged sword," Lithuania says as he puts out his cigarette. He tries to keep his voice casual as he asks the next question: "What did Russia do?"

"Oh, y'know, laughed in my face, said 'I told you so.' That sorta thing." Poland shrugs, but Lithuania notices he also looks quite pleased with himself. "Like _I_ had anything to do with what those dumbasses decided. I'm on the side of the people."

Lithuania is finding it hard to keep his face impassive. He looks at the floor.

"Don't know why I had to come all the way over here just to have that asshole laugh at me. He, like, could have just phoned and saved me a trip."

Poland shoots him a grin and Lithuania forces one in return.

"Personal humiliation," Lithuania says, amazed at his ability to keep his tone conversational. "It's always been Russia's favorite." His back is suddenly feeling exposed. He involuntarily shifts the muscles beneath his uniform. Poland doesn't seem to notice. They are on the same side but they are worlds apart.

Poland glances at the clock. "Well. I guess I need to be off."

Lithuania nods. Poland stands, turns to go, when something catches his eye.

"Are you serious?" Poland says, reaching for Lithuania's neck before the other can react.

Lithuania tries to back away, but Poland is already lifting the golden chain from beneath his collar. He turns his head away, cheeks burning a violent crimson, as Poland closes his hand around the cross.

"I cannot believe you still wear this thing. I'm surprised Russia hasn't castrated you."

"_Shut up_," Lithuania hisses, yanking the cross out of Poland's hand and tucking back down his shirt.

Poland does something funny with his mouth. Lithuania can't tell if he's trying to be serious or trying not to laugh.

"He..._hasn't_ castrated you, has he?" Poland says.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lithuania huffs.

"Why do you still wear it?" Poland asks, his smirking derision replaced by mild curiosity. He reaches for the chain but Lithuania smacks his hand away.

"It's none of your business."

"Is so. I'm the one who gave it to you. Remember?" Poland angles his head hoping to catch Lithuania's eye.

Lithuania turns away, looks at the floor. "Of course I remember," he snaps. "How could I forget that?" The date is stamped behind his eyelids. He sees it every time they close. Sees it every time he looks at Russia.

"...So, then...why - " Poland asks timidly.

"Why do you think, Poland!" Lithuania explodes, throwing his hands up. The other nation's idiocy is exasperating.

"Wow," Poland deadpans, taking a step back and giving Lithuania a look that suggests he is finally seeing his former ally for the first time. "You really are passive-aggressive."

Lithuania's eyes narrow. "Don't you have a train to catch?"

Poland blinks at the rude dismissal. "Heh. Right." He bows his head and turns to leave, thin face obscured by a curtain of blonde, and Lithuania hates himself. Hates himself for holding onto things he cannot change - policies and wars and ultimatums - and he wants to change, he really does. Their past no longer dictates their future. Only Russia can do that. They are on the same side.

"Poland," Lithuania says softly. "Wait."

The other nation turns and Lithuania is taking out a set of keys from his pocket. He unlocks Poland's handcuffs. The smaller nation rubs his bony wrists where the metal started to dig in.

"Thanks."

"Just don't try to incite an uprising on your way home," Lithuania says, pocketing the keys and handcuffs.

"Stop giving me ideas," Poland says with a wink. "And I never try...they just sort of, like, happen. What can I say, my people just hate bullshit." Poland chuckles and Lithuania snorts and it feels good to laugh.

The moment ends as quickly as it started when Poland's stomach issues a hungry growl. His wide grin becomes an apologetic wince. Lithuania goes around to his desk, retrieves his bagged lunch from his desk drawer, and hands it to Poland. The blonde nation starts to protest but Lithuania insists. Poland takes it then takes his leave with the promise he'll be back in a few years. Of this Lithuania has no doubt. Poland will continue his noisy rebellion. And Lithuania will continue his in silence.


	6. Chapter 6 - 1989

**May, 1989**

Lithuania bustles about the kitchen, busily preparing breakfast. Estonia and Latvia are seated, waiting, at the small breakfast table. Estonia's nose is buried, as ever, in the newspaper. Latvia bounces up and down in his seat. He tilts his head this way and that, scanning the front and back page articles. Estonia shoots him a glare, a look that tells him to be still and mind his own business. Latvia sinks into a slouch, sits on his hands and mopes for a moment or two before perking up again.

"Is it true?" Latvia asks in that oh-so-oblivious way of his.

"Is what true?" Estonia says lazily from behind his newspaper.

"Did Miss Hungary really take down the border fence – " Latvia's mouth snaps closed. He's just remembered they are not alone in the kitchen. Russia is there, but he has been so unnervingly quiet these past few months the Baltics often forget he's ever in the room.

Estonia lowers a corner of his newspaper, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and eyes Russia. The large nation does not say a word, only stares at his plate.

Estonia looks to Lithuania for help – his older brother has always been so adept at diffusing these situations, unlike him. And Lithuania has the perfect distraction ready.

"Eat before it gets cold!" Lithuania says with a cheery smile. He pours them all steaming mugs of tea, then doles out heaping spoonfuls of porridge onto their plates and brings over a platter of eggs and meat.

Russia blinks at the sudden appearance of food. Lithuania and Estonia watch him with apprehension. Latvia has already dug into his plate. Russia takes a fried egg from the platter and is about to tuck into his own meal when the phone rings. Lithuania springs up, ready to answer it, but Russia shakes his head. The large nation slides out of his chair and lumbers down the hall. He doesn't bother keeping his voice down when he answers:

"Why are you bitching at me? What do you want me to do? Why don't you call _her_ and complain!"

The sound of the phone being thrown down the hall reaches the Baltics' ears a few seconds later.

"There's your answer," Estonia mutters.

.

.

.

**August, 1989**

Estonia's proficiency for procuring foreign news sources and tapping into non-Soviet broadcasts never ceases to amaze Lithuania. For the past two years, Estonia has shared the news of Black Ribbon Day demonstrations from around the world with his two brothers. And even though last year's protests were sanctioned by the Soviets, Estonia still took great care to keep any evidence of their small celebration from Russia. But this year's Black Ribbon Day promises to be an even bigger event. This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, and talks have been underway regarding a human chain stretching across the Baltic states. It has been approved by the Soviets, of course, but Estonia still keeps his voice down whenever Russia is around. It's a habit they all have, despite the policies Russia's boss has introduced.

On the appointed day, Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia all gather in Russia's parlor and hold hands, forming a circle. They close their eyes, each imagining they are back home with their countrymen.

Russia watches from the doorway. A bottle of vodka in one hand and an odd look on his face.

.

.

.

**November, 1989**

They are watching something they can't quite believe. It is history. Made with each minute. Passing over static airwaves. History. Broadcast in a jumping signal, switching one moment from color to black and white to snowy lines and back again as Estonia tries to adjust the antenna. He bends a wire coat hanger and wraps it around the aerial. The signal resolves into wavy lines, but Lithuania can still make out what's going on.

It's coming down. It really is. Coming. The fuck. Down.

Lithuania's eyes widen. He can remember when East built the damn thing….

"How's that?" Estonia asks, pushing his glasses up.

Lithuania flaps his hands, makes shushing gestures, and points to the screen.

Estonia walks around the television set and sits beside his brother, watching.

Russia had gone to bed early that night, complaining of a headache. Latvia soon followed, but Estonia and Lithuania remained in the parlor, listening to the radio. They had heard a broadcast cut through the program. The signal was weak, hissing and spitting through static – and Lithuania's German was rusty, but he managed to discern the gist of the message. He turned to Estonia, ordered him to turn on the television and to try and find a foreign news broadcast. Estonia employed everything from aluminum foil to improvised antennas until they finally caught a German one.

And now they sit, shoulder to shoulder, faces bathed in silvery light.

Lithuania feels as if he is on pins and needles. He sits on the edge of the couch, his whole body scrunched up, chewing his bottom lip because…something is happening. _Something_….

Thousands gather on top of the Wall. Traffic flows freely through checkpoints. The borders between East and West have blurred.

And speaking of East and West….Lithuania watches as a familiar head of shockingly white hair approaches a stone-faced blonde.

Prussia, still dressed in his East German military uniform, approaches Germany. His expression is hard to read. Would still be despite the poor signal. His face looks uncharacteristically neutral, Lithuania thinks. Prussia's – East's – mouth is set in an even line. None of the grinning bravado. He holds out a hand to his brother – and is swept into a crushing embrace by Germany. Lithuania can see Prussia tense, then begin to relax. Gradually, he brings his arms up to wrap around his brother.

The signal jumps, switches to grey static snow. The images of the people on the Wall, of the reunited brothers, become ghosts.

Estonia jumps up, bangs a fist on the set, messes with the antennas, but eventually concedes the signal is lost. He switches the knob off, plunging the parlor into darkness. The only light now comes from the hall.

Lithuania is still seated on the couch. He vaguely notices he's drawn himself in – shoulders tense and hunched in anticipation, knees knocking together.

Estonia places a hand on his shoulder, gives it a brief squeeze before heading to his own room. The gesture contains a million things, but only one sticks out in Lithuania's mind.

The cross beneath his shirt feels heavy against his chest.


	7. Chapter 7 - 1990-1991

_Chapter II, Article 4 of the Soviet Constitution of 1924 states: 'Each one of the member Republics retains the right to freely withdraw from the Union.' Chapter II, Article 6 of the Soviet Constitution of 1924 states: 'The territory of the member Republics cannot be modified without their consent; also, any limitation or modification or suppression of Article 4 must have the approval of all the member Republics of the Union.'_

* * *

**May, 1990**

Lithuania is lying in bed. A vacant stare crosses his face. But he has not given up. Not yet.

He has been locked in his room since March. Since he had the audacity to declare independence. Russia, either too shocked by this announcement or fully anticipating it and playing along, had let him board that train to Vilnius before rerouting it back to Moscow. Gorbachev's repudiation of the Brezhnev Doctrine apparently did not apply to Soviet republics – only the satellites were granted that indulgence. But Lithuania, tenacity ever increasing, refused to kowtow. And then Russia had locked him in his room. Sanctions were imposed against his people in April.

The snap of the lock catches his attention. The door to his room creaks open. Russia enters, holding a food tray. Time for dinner.

Lithuania does not stir, watches as Russia sets the tray on his bedside table. The large nation turns, looks at him. He bends over Lithuania, one hand brushing a stray lock of hair behind the Baltic's ear. Lithuania suppresses a violent shudder.

"I did not want this for you, you know," Russia says, sitting on the edge of Lithuania's bed. "I thought we could thrive again. We had been stagnating for so long….But, it seems, my actions were misconstrued."

"Aren't they always," Lithuania bites out.

Russia bows his head, rakes a hand through his hair.

Lithuania pushes himself up, crossing his arms petulantly. "You can't pick and choose who is allowed democracy and who must stay. Chapter two, Article four."

Russia shakes his head, lets out a dubious puff of a laugh. "Stipulations. Article six."

Lithuania scowls. He knows about Article six. Of course he does. They have been arguing the same points, playing the same game, for weeks. And Russia is growing ever sick of it. He frowns and stands abruptly, heading for the door. The coils of the bed jump back into place at the sudden relief of pressure.

"…Maybe you need another month to think about it," Russia says over his shoulder.

Lithuania's eyes widen. His arms unfold and in seconds, he springs to his feet, hands curling into fists in protest. He flies at the door.

He is too slow. Russia has already shut it. The grating sound of a lock sliding into place reaches Lithuania's ears moments before his fists collide with the unyielding wood.

.

.

.

**January, 1991**

His ears are ringing.

The concussion from the round bursts had shattered many of the television tower's windows. When Lithuania saw the tanks approaching, he tried to get as many of the protesters as he could into the building to protect them. He knew what those tanks would do. Only a handful joined him. The rest stayed. A human barricade against Soviet machines. Lithuania only had a brief moment to marvel at the fortitude of his countrymen before the assault began.

Something warm and wet trickles down his neck. Lithuania lifts a hand up. His right ear is bleeding. He has lost all hearing in it. His left one feels like it's been stuffed with cotton balls, and he can hear about as well.

Lithuania blinks, takes in his surroundings. He is just inside the door and everything looks sideways. Lithuania thinks, absurdly, the tank blast has knocked the world off its axis before he realizes he's lying curled on his side on the floor. He picks himself up, using a wall for support. His ruptured eardrum, and subsequent loss of hearing, has thrown his balance off-kilter. There are people, in the building, stumbling around and looking just as dazed as he feels. Outside is pandemonium. Muted cries of his people in pain. Some are on the ground, others are running, and all Lithuania can do is watch numbly on.

A sharp tune, like a note played on a tinny whistle, cuts through the chaos and Lithuania tenses a moment, thinking the Soviets have pushed through the barricade. But it is his ear. The world spins. Sounds crash around him. And Lithuania is sure he is going to be violently sick….

His left ear has regained its hearing – and just in time too. The shouts from outside increase to new levels of confusion, but Lithuania is only aware of one thing: the Soviets are reloading.

He throws open the door and yells: "Get inside! Get inside, quick!"

A few more protesters break ranks and head for the tower, but Lithuania does not stick around to count how many. Blind instinct has driven him on, and he is already staggering back through the building, all but tripping over his feet as he fights his balance to stay upright.

He heads for the stairwell, sucking in a very relieved breath of air when he finally reaches it.

Lithuania collapses against the cement wall, sinking to the floor as another percussive wave shakes the building. He draws deep, shuddering breaths. Hot tears scorch down his cheeks. He is sick – _so_ sick – of fighting…wishes they could just resolve things diplomatically…but Russia will never let him go….

At the end of June, Russia had finally let him out of his room. Lithuania learned his government had declared a moratorium on the March declaration of independence. His government was willing to negotiate with Moscow. Weeks passed the same way his decades-long servitude to Russia passed – cooking and cleaning and cooking and cleaning. And waiting, waiting, waiting. Lithuania no longer held any hope. He knew the talks would lead to nothing.

He was proven right at the end of December.

His government reinstated the declaration.

There was nothing left to do now but act.

He would not bid Estonia and Latvia farewell. Seeing their faces would only make it harder. He did not need – did not _want_ – a reason to stay….

He packed a suitcase and found Russia in his office. The large nation was seated behind his desk, his back to the door, staring blankly out of the window, watching the snow as it quietly fell.

"I'm leaving," Lithuania said without preamble.

"I know," Russia said simply, almost apathetically. He had not even bothered to turn around….

"For _good_ this time."

"I know."

Lithuania's eyes narrowed. He glared at the back of the worn leather chair. What had he expected? Maybe a little bit of gratitude after a half a century in Russia's service. An apology, perhaps. Maybe. Though probably not. What _had_ he expected? At least _some_ indication Russia was sorry to see him go…a handshake or a nod of the head…something.

Lithuania clenched his jaw. He was angry – with Russia and with him_self_ for expecting more. He had expected Russia to bully him, to insult him, to say _"Kiss-my-ass-Lithuania-I-hope-you-rot-in-hell-you-ungrateful-little-prick."_ He had expected _something!_ Something more than what amounted to an offhand dismissal. Russia couldn't even be bothered to _look_ at him….

This infuriated Lithuania even more. His hand tightened around the suitcase handle as surely as invisible fingers were tightening around his throat.

"Well, then…." Lithuania said, secretly priding himself in holding back the strain in his voice. "Goodbye."

He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

He was at the threshold when he felt it. Something cold and hard pressed into the back of his head. He didn't need to turn around to know it was a gun.

Lithuania's eyes shuddered closed. He inhaled deeply. _Ah, there it is,_ he thought. _A proper 'goodbye.'_

"Litva," Russia began, his low, rumbling voice hardly above a whisper, "don't do this."

Lithuania felt his eyes slowly open. He focused them on a spot on the wallpaper opposite him. "I have to."

"No. You don't."

Lithuania did not answer. He heard the hammer click into place. His eyes slid out of focus, eyelids fluttering half shut. His heart beat away the seconds. Counting down the moment until….

He felt the barrel pointed against his head start to shake.

"_P-please,_ Litva!"

It wasn't a yell. Or even a command. It was a cry. A shrill cry uttered in desperation. Uttered by the one nation who was not supposed to have such an emotion.

Lithuania squeezed his eyes shut. He swallowed past the jagged lump in his throat. He did not want a reason to stay….

He lifted up one foot and placed it over the threshold. Then the other.

He was in the hall.

And Russia still had not shot him.

He was in the hall….

Lithuania's eyes flew open at the realization. His shoulders relaxed. He let his feet lead him on towards the front door. Then from there, to the Metro station. And from there, to the train station. And from there, to his land. To Vilnius. To home.

Lithuania did not once look back as he walked away from Russia. He did not want a reason to stay.

.

.

.

**August, 1991**

Lithuania can hear the Soviet troops maneuvering down the street through his opened window. He is in his apartment, listening to the radio, listening to news of a coup in Moscow.

The soldiers will, no doubt, be occupying government buildings, and possibly television and radio stations, ready to act should the coup prove a success. Lithuania sighs, gets up, and switches the radio off. He is too tired to listen to it anymore (has almost resigned himself to the fact that he'll probably be back living with Russia by winter).

He pauses by his window and looks out. Looks at the column of troops moving through his city. He wonders how Russia is doing, remembering the last time there was a mad scrabble for power….

_He brought it on himself,_ Lithuania thinks. _Too many ideas changing way too fast._

A bird alights on the windowsill. It is a little brown wren. It cocks its head. One glassy black eye looks up at Lithuania. The nation sees himself reflected back in that obsidian orb. A memory stirs in his mind.

He is just a child, out gathering firewood in preparation for the coming winter. As he approaches a clearing, he thinks he hears a sound, a strangled sound, like the whimper of wounded animal.

Lithuania pushes aside a leafy branch and sees someone is, in fact, crying. It is the same strange little boy he'd met a few winters back.

Lithuania furrows his brow, wondering what the boy is doing here, and approaches cautiously. His foot steps on a twig, snapping it in half. Lithuania winces as the sound echoes around the quiet clearing.

The strange boy's head jerks up. "W-what do you want?" he sniffs. He stands, somewhat defiantly – an effect that is quickly ruined when he wipes his running nose across his shirtsleeve.

"Nothing!" Lithuania answers hastily. "I was just…" he trails off, glancing down at the bundle of wood in his arms. "Are you all right?"

The boy nods his head. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Lithuania feels the crease in his brow deepen. "Well…I, um, heard you crying, so…."

The boy's cheeks flush a bright pink. He looks at the ground, toeing a clod of dirt. One hand shifts behind his back.

"What have you got there?"

The boy's head snaps back up. "N-nothing!" he stammers.

"Yes, you do. I saw you hide it just now. Let me see." Lithuania sets his firewood down and walks over.

The boy frowns, hangs his head sheepishly, and holds out his hand.

Clutched tightly in a little fist is a bird. Its beak is open as if it is about to sing, but the half-lidded eyes tells Lithuania all he needs to know.

"It's dead," he says in a quiet voice.

"No!" the boy cries, pulling his hand to his chest. His grip on the bird tightens, knuckles glowing white. "It's not dead! I can w-wake it back up. It – it just fell. Its wing broke. I-I heard it – flapping about – i-in the bushes – and I…I t-tried! I _t-tried_ to help it!"

"I know," Lithuania says, hoping he can somehow soothe the distraught boy. "I know you did. Believe me. But – " He reaches out a hand to place on the boy's shoulder. The boy jerks away, curling himself protectively around the bird, stroking its head and whispering to it. Lithuania vaguely wonders if it is some kind of spell. He retracts his hand, swallowing heavily. He can not bring himself to finish what he needs to say.

Lithuania backs away, gathering up his firewood, and leaves the strange boy to whisper his strange incantations to his dead bird. But before the thick branches enclose him once more, Lithuania stops and steals a glance over his shoulder. He wonders when they will meet again….

The wren cocks its head back towards the street. It ruffles its feathers and then takes flight.

Lithuania blinks, the sound of beating wings bringing him back to the present. It seems Russia never could learn his lesson. The tighter the hold, the quicker the death.


	8. Epilogue (Don't Look Back in Anger)

**Epilogue**

**May, 1996**

He still finds it a little jarring, this whole free market system. Even though his economy is on the rise – even though he has partnered with countries (other than Russia), like Germany and Britain in trade – Lithuania still catches himself staring perhaps a moment too long at the Western imports dotting the shelves of his supermarkets. He still catches himself eyeing a foreign (non-Soviet) car with suspicion as it passes him on the street. It's a transition phase, he knows. One they all must go through. And he's handling it fairly well, he thinks.

But sometimes….

Sometimes he has those rare moments of doubt. (Does he _really_ miss standing in bread lines?) When he wonders whether the old system had been better. (It's familiar. An odd sense of comfort. Something he has lived with for so long….)

He tries not to dwell too much on it. (Tries to find some way of distracting himself.) He copes as best he can.

And, of course, Prussia helps. In his own way.

The first time Prussia shows up on his doorstep is a month after the Soviet Union officially ends. It's seven in the morning and Lithuania awakes to the pounding of a fist on his door. He opens it – somewhat in a panic – only to find a disheveled Prussia bitching something about West hiding his Vita Cola. His bloodshot eyes indicate he is either drunk or has driven the night through or both. Lithuania sighs, drops his head into his hand, and calmly explains that Vita Cola is no longer being manufactured. Prussia stays for a week after that.

It's become a weird sort of ritual, Lithuania thinks. Prussia will show up unannounced, banging on Lithuania's door early in the morning or late at night, using some lame excuse, like getting lost. Lithuania will cross his arms, roll his eyes, and say: "You're not Austria." To which Prussia will reply "No shit" before hauling a case of beer and a case of Vita Cola (Germany having restarted production in 1994) out of his car. Prussia will drink and Lithuania will humor him and have a beer or two. Then at some point, Prussia will challenge Lithuania to a sword fight. Lithuania reminds Prussia he left his sword in Berlin. They inevitably settle for arm wrestling instead. Lithuania tries to keep the scores even, but if he were honest, he almost always wins.

He never asks why Prussia visits him, and Prussia never says. Maybe because they had grown up together – each on the opposing end of a sword. Maybe because Lithuania knows what it's like, being a former European superpower. (For over two hundred years, they had ruled together.) Maybe because Prussia still can't look Poland in the eyes after what he and his brother did. Maybe because there are some things Germany just does not understand….

Well.

Whatever the reason, they all have their methods of coping and Lithuania, despite his surface irritation, is always thankful for the visits.

.

.

.

**September, 1996**

Lithuania is staring at the ceiling. It is night, his room is dark, he cannot sleep, and he knows why.

He rolls back over, finds the digital clock on his bedside table, and groans when he realizes it's only two more hours until daybreak. Only two more hours until he has to pick Russia up at the train station.

Russia – the reason for his latest bout of insomnia.

Russia had phoned him a few weeks ago, wanting to schedule a visit. Lithuania is wary at first, thinking he might somehow bring up Kaliningrad again or revoke his most-favored-nation trade status. But Russia assures him the visit is not diplomatic – he just wants to get out of Moscow for a couple days. Lithuania agrees to host him, knowing deep down all international visits are political, in some form or another.

Lithuania sighs, gives up on sleep. Despite his consent, his anxiety has been ever mounting, knows it will continue until Russia has left. What's one more sleepless night, anyway?

He showers, dresses, and makes a pot of coffee just to have something to do (to keep from feverishly pacing up and down his flat). He finds himself wishing for Prussia to drop by unexpectedly, though he knows it won't happen.

Finally, seven o'clock rolls around. Lithuania heads to the train station.

Early morning travelers bustle by as he sits, waiting on the platform. A large group, college students by the looks of them, makes their way towards a metal staircase leading to the platform opposite. Their overlarge duffle bags and backpacks momentarily block his view. Lithuania wonders if they are his or are exchange students, and realizes it's hard to tell anymore.

As he watches their bright packs recede, a train pulls up to his platform. Lithuania eyes it, knowing it's _his_ – Russia's. But rather than apprehension, the feeling settling in his chest is one of a curious lightness. A feeling of equanimity, of self-possession.

They have reconciled, Lithuania supposes, in a way, given their current trade status. They have reconciled and he is ready to move on, though he has not forgotten – and probably never will.

Lithuania uncrosses his legs and stands, smoothing down his slacks. Passengers disembark and scurry towards the station or pause to have a smoke in the open air.

It is only once the crowd clears that Lithuania sees him standing at the far end of the platform. Russia's impressive figure grows taller with each step he takes. The distance between them grows smaller.

Lithuania shakes his hair out of his face, tilts his chin up a little higher. He sets his mouth in a firm line. (His pulse pounds in his neck.)

Russia greets Lithuania with a smile – and it is genuine, despite the tired look in his eyes. He sets his suitcase down and holds out a hand. Lithuania has to stop himself from picking up the luggage. That is not his job anymore. He covers his awkward action with an equally awkward handshake. Russia doesn't seem to notice – or if he does, he does not mind.

"How was your trip?" Lithuania asks, determined to keep things civil.

"Long," Russia yawns, stretching his back.

"I'm sorry," Lithuania says, though he has no idea why he's apologizing. Out of habit, probably. "Did you get much sleep?"

"A few hours. On the train."

"Breakfast?"

"Yes, please."

Lithuania takes them to a little café inside the station. They share a small loaf of rye bread while they wait for their meal. Lithuania orders a coffee, watches over the rim of the cup as Russia smears generous helpings of butter and jam over his slice of bread. He looks so at ease, Lithuania thinks, sitting there in his turtleneck sweater and slacks, not bound up in an ill-fitting military coat. He wonders what happened to that coat. He remembers his old uniform. It's buried in a box in the back of his closet. He only keeps it in case a museum wants it or –

Lithuania blinks, eyes snapping up. His mind had been wandering, making him stare blankly, dazedly, into his cup of coffee. Like he used to do at Russia's house. And Russia has noticed.

The large nation is watching him with a look Lithuania can't quite place – a look that surely exists somewhere in the vast chasm between fury and concern.

Lithuania clears his throat, takes a sip of coffee, and sets the cup down.

A hand flies across the small table. Lithuania flinches, ready for the smack. None comes. Instead, Russia is holding up the little cross necklace, staring fixedly at it.

"I thought you'd lost it," Russia breathes.

Lithuania's heart is in his throat. He swallows, trying to unblock it. "Why – why would you think that?" he says as evenly as he can manage.

Russia shrugs a shoulder, lets go of the necklace. "I had not seen it since…." The rest of his thought hangs in the air between them.

Lithuania bows his head, recalling all too well when Russia first found it. His eyes burn, remembering the partisans. He blinks fiercely, takes a hasty gulp of coffee, and when he looks back up, his face is a perfect mask of composure.

"I've always had it," Lithuania says. "I've almost always worn it."

"Ah," Russia says, somewhat stunned Lithuania had managed to keep it hidden from him for four decades.

The server brings their food. Russia hardly touches his. He hunches his shoulders and chews his lip. He looks like he is struggling with something – and Lithuania is not all too sure if he wants to know what.

"Poland gave it to me," Lithuania says before he can stop himself. (His mouth is moving and words are coming out and he feels a little too much like Latvia right now.) "In remembrance of the rebels after the November Uprising. I meant to put it with the others, but…I just never could." (For over two hundred years, they had ruled together.)

"I would like to see them," Russia says quietly, pushing the food around on his plate.

Lithuania regards him a moment. His brow knits, wondering if this is a trick. Russia has seen the Hill before, Lithuania knows, every time his government ordered it bulldozed….

Russia's eyes drift up from his plate, find Lithuania's watching him with uncertainty.

"What I mean is," Russia begins, "I would like to see them. With you."

Lithuania blinks, tries to cover his shock by drinking his coffee. Only when he is sure he's found his voice, does he set the cup down.

"All right. We can go today, if you would like."

Russia nods.

.

.

.

They stand at the foot of the Hill. A dirt path carves its way up through the verdant grass. The number of crosses has grown incredibly since the last time he was here. It is at once massive and haunting and Lithuania cannot move. His fingers fidget with the gold chain around his neck. He is having trouble letting it go. He has worn it for so long – it has been a part of his quiet resistance for so long….

"_I'm sorry," Poland is saying in a rare moment of clarity. "I fucked up."_

_Lithuania does not answer. Only shakes his head and continues to pack away the books he managed to keep from Russia. With any luck, he'll be able to smuggle them to France, where many of his people have sought refuge following the failed revolt._

"_Liet…c'mon – look at me – or, like…fucking _say_ something!"_

_Lithuania inhales sharply. He knows he should not be mad at Poland – he's not a tactician, never really has been – but it is all too easy to blame him right now._

_Poland draws himself up. "Fine. Be a stubborn bitch. Here," he says, reaching in his pocket. "I got this for you – for…them." His voice is oddly strained. He tosses the object on the table. It is a necklace. A small, golden cross._

_Lithuania looks at it, looks at Poland. Each waits for the other to do something. The minutes stretch on interminably. _

"…_Right," Poland huffs when it seems no concession can be made. "Well. I guess…I'll see you around." He leaves Lithuania to continue his packing._

_Later that evening, after his supper has been cleared away, Lithuania picks up the cross, still lying on the table. The light from his dying fire glints off it. Lithuania's eyes narrow. He half considers selling it out of spite (and God knows he could use the money.) But then he remembers why Poland gave it to him. And he fastens it around his neck…. _

Lithuania feels Russia watching him. He presses his lips tight. Determined fingers find the clasp, but another hand covers his, drawing his fingers away. A thumb brushes the back of his hand.

"I think…he meant for you to keep it," Russia says.

Lithuania sniffs, feels his head nod. "Yes," he breathes.

.

.

.

The rest of Russia's visit passes amicably enough. Lithuania avoids anything else that might hint at their tenuous past, and it is perhaps oddly bittersweet when he bids Russia farewell at the end of his stay. For all of their intertwined history, they are still strangers to one another. But they are trying.

Later that evening, Lithuania sits alone in his flat. He absently fiddles with the cross around his neck. And thinks.

If Russia is capable of compromising, then so is he.

Slowly, he rises. Packs a bag. Gasses up his car. And drives west.

To Warsaw.

.

.

.

_**Ende**_


	9. Historical Notes

**Historical Notes**

**Chapter One:**

**Lithuanian partisans:** Lithuanian partisans waged guerilla warfare against the Soviets from 1944-1953. They began largely as groups of Lithuanians escaping to the forests and countryside to avoid forced conscription into the Red Army or further Stalinist repressions. Other members came from the Lithuanian Territorial Defense Force, which was formed by Nazi authorities to combat Soviet partisans. The Nazis, however, quickly came to see the defense force as a threat to their occupation regime and had the senior staff arrested or deported. The remaining defense force dissolved into the countryside, forming guerilla units, and prepared for operations against the Soviets. They had an organized chain of command and were well armed. After the end of WWII, the Soviets announced they would grant amnesty to those hiding in the forests to avoid conscription. Following the war, partisan warfare began to decline. Eventually, open engagements between the partisans and Soviets gave way to more clandestine activities such as sabotage and propaganda. But the sheer size of Soviet armed and intelligence forces had succeeded in eradicating most of the resistance by the early 1950s.

**The Polish-Lithuanian War: **a conflict following the aftermath of WWI. It largely concerned control of the Vilnius (Wilno in Polish) and Suwalki Regions. On the diplomatic side of things, after the war, Poland refused to recognize Lithuania's independence, wanting to revive some form of the old Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Lithuania said "Heck no, I likes my independence, mmkay thanks!" On the military side of things, following Germany's signing of the Armistice, Russia renounced its peace treaty with the Central Powers of WWI (Treaty of Best-Litovsk), and began a westward offensive from 1918-1919. This sparked off a series of local wars in – you guessed it – Poland and Lithuania. Poland managed to recapture Vilnius from the Soviets, saw that Lithuania was also engaged in fighting them, and was like "Hey! Let's unite and fight our common enemy! Good tiems." At the same time, Poland was still angling for a Polish-Lithuania diplomatic union. But Lithuania said "Hold a sec, I don't want to lose my independence to your rule. And, oh, by the way, can I have mah capital back, please?" To which Poland said: "Pfft! Nuh-uh. Wilno is totes Polish." And then the whole thing turned into a giant mess with lots of finger pointing. Lithuania claimed neutrality in Poland's fight against the Soviets and even signed a peace treaty with them (Soviets) in 1920, which prompted Poland to accuse Lithuania of being a Soviet ally. Poland eventually emerged victorious against the Soviets, and many historians agree that if Poland had not prevailed, Lithuania would have been invaded and incorporated into the Soviet state, despite their peace treaty.

**Polish Ultimatum of 1938:** In the aftermath of the Polish-Lithuanian War, Lithuania broke off all diplomatic relations with Poland in protest to Poland's annexation of the Vilnius Region. As tensions in Europe began to escalate, Poland realized it needed to secure its northern borders. The only way to do that would be the re-establish ties with Lithuania. So Poland sent issued an ultimatum demanding Lithuania unconditionally agree to establish diplomatic relations with Warsaw. It meant Lithuania would have to renounce its claims on the region containing its historical capital of Vilnius, but Lithuania was so done with fighting at this point and agreed.

**Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact:** signed in August 1939. Russia and Germany were having fun drawing lines on a map, dividing up their spheres of influence. The Soviets invaded Eastern Poland in 1939, returning Vilnius to Lithuania. According to the secret protocols, Lithuania was to go to Germany since it was next to East Prussia. But the pact contained a second secret protocol, agreed to in September, assigning Lithuania to the USSR.

**Chapter Two:**

**Lithuanian partisans: **(see above)

**Russification:** cultural assimilation (sometimes forced) during which non-Russian communities give up their culture and language in favor of the Russian one

**Hill of Crosses:** A pilgrimage site in northern Lithuania, it is believed the first crosses were placed on an old hill fort after the 1831 Uprising. Families could not locate the bodies of the deceased rebels and began leaving crosses on the hill fort. The Hill has come to signify the endurance of Lithuanian Catholicism despite the numerous threats it's faced. During the Cold War years, it came to be a form of peaceful resistance, leaving a cross on the Hill. The Soviets ordered the crosses to be destroyed and tried to bulldoze the site many times.

**Yaroslav and monasteries:** Yaroslav the Wise was the Grand Prince of Kiev from 1016-1054. Many historians believe Kievan Russia reached the peak of its cultural bloom and military power. He promoted Christianity and launched the translation of religious books from the Byzantine Empire and other countries into Old Russian. He founded the first monastery in Russia in 1030. Book writing developed under his rule and had an impressive library himself.

**Chapter Three:**

**East German Uprising of 1953: **It began with a strike by East Berlin construction workers on June 16, 1953. By the following day, it had spread to cities across East Germany. It was eventually (violently) suppressed by tanks of the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany and the Volkspolizei.

**Stalin's Death: **Pretty much all shit broke loose as a power struggle for Stalin's vacant position took place between the eight senior members of the Presidium of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Arrests, backstabbing, accusations of treason, executions – y'know, that sorta thing.

**Chapter Four:**

**Hungarian Revolution of 1956: **October 23, 1956 – November 11, 1956. It was a nationwide revolt against the government of the Hungarian People's Republic and its Soviet-imposed policies. It was the first major threat to Soviet control and proved highly influential despite its failure. It began as a student demonstration and quickly spread across the country, collapsing the government. A new government formed, disbanded the Hungarian secret police, declared its exit from the Warsaw Pact, and promised to restore free elections. A cease-fire was ordered on October 28, and by the 30th, Soviet troops began withdrawing from the capital city of Budapest. On October 31st, Soviet leaders decided to reverse their decision. Historians are unclear as to what prompted this – some believe it was due to Hungary's declaration to exit the Pact. On November 3rd, a Hungarian delegation was on its way to discuss negotiations regarding Soviet withdrawal when the Chief of the Soviet Security Police (KGB) ordered the arrest of the delegation. The following day, the Soviet Army attacked Budapest.

**Chapter 5:**

**June 1976 protests: **Poland carried out a lot of protests during the Cold War era. A. Lot. This was just one of many – and probably not as well known, as say Poznan in 1956…but it fit the chronology of my fic so….These particular demonstrations took place following the Prime Minister's plan for a sudden price increase in basic commodities, notably food. BUT, the double-edged sword part was the fact that Poland's economy was in shambles and prices, at that time, were fixed and controlled by the government – which was falling into massive debt. So, obviously people would not be able to afford it. The food prices in 1976 had been pretty much unchanged since 1971, and it was becoming apparent that that just wasn't gonna fly anymore from an economic standpoint. So, to get the people ready for price hikes, the government issued a massive propaganda campaign. (And, by the way, ALL of Warsaw's plans were opposed by the Soviet Union). The government of Poland anticipated the protests, responded brutally, but wound up shelving the plan for the increases – supposedly under Moscow's orders, the Soviets not wanting any more disturbances in Poland. (Pfft! Like that's gonna stop 'em.)

**Chapter Six:**

**Hungary's border fences: **In May of 1989, Hungary removed their border fence with Austria, which allowed hundreds of East Germans on vacation to escape to the West. Many of the Soviet Bloc governments feared another "brain drain" – when thousands escaped to West Berlin, before the Wall. But the Soviet government took no action against Hungary, pursuing a "hands-off" approach.

**The Baltic Way, Fall of the Berlin Wall: **(I figured these two were pretty self-explanatory. Sue me ^_^)

**Chapter Seven:**

**Lithuania's Declaration of Independence: **March 11, 1990. The Supreme Soviet of the Lithuanian SSR proclaimed the Act of the Re-Establishment of the State of Lithuania, pointing out that the Soviet constitutions allowed union republics to leave the USSR if they chose to do so. (Article 4, mentioned at the beginning of the chapter). Moscow responded, saying such an exit was possible, but only after a new Soviet law governing such a step was adopted (Article 6, mentioned at the beginning of the chapter pretty much negated Article 4 and kept it from ever happening). But Lithuania refused to back down, so Moscow issued an ultimatum: drop all talks of independence or face sanctions. Lithuania said "Fuck off" and in April, sanctions were imposed. Lithuania appealed to the international community, considering what Moscow was doing as "economic aggression….equivalent to any other form of aggression." But, it didn't get the help it needed, so in June, Lithuania issued a 100-day moratorium on its declaration for independence, hoping it could negotiate with Moscow. The talks led to nothing and Lithuania re-issued its former declaration.

**Soviet Economy:** In an attempt to revive the stagnating Soviet economy, president Gorbachev introduced the policies of glasnost (openness) and perestroika (restructuring). The reforms encouraged changes within the Soviet government and encouraged the public to voice its opinion.

**January Events:** January 11-13, 1991. The Soviets attempted to regain control of Lithuania – the most well known clash (sometimes called Bloody Sunday) took place outside and in the Vilnius TV Tower. Soviet tanks fired blank rounds, permanently deafening many of the gathered protesters and knocking out the glass in nearby buildings.

**August Putsch: **A coup d'etat attempt by members of the Soviet Union's government to take control away from Gorbachev. The coup leaders were hard-line Communist Party members who opposed Gorbachev's reform program. Even though it failed, it destabilized the Soviet Union and is believed to have contributed to the demise of the Communist Party and the dissolution of the Soviet Union.

**Epilogue:**

**Lithuania and Kaliningrad:** During the early 90s, after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Soviet troops began withdrawing from former postings in satellite states and republics. That was all fine and good until Russia realized it had a problem: Kaliningrad. It's still part of Russia, but is blocked from it by the Baltic states. Russia needed a way to transport military materiel to and from the oblast. Negotiations began between Russia and Lithuania regarding transport through the Baltic nation (it being the shortest land route). The discussions were long and drawn out as neither side could see eye to eye. At last, at the beginning of 1995, some form of agreement was made and in exchange for concessions made, Russia granted Lithuania most-favored-nation status.

**Most-favored-nation status: **Sometimes abbreviated as MFN, it is a status or level of treatment accorded by one state to another in international trade

**1831 Uprising/November Uprising: **(alluded to at the end of the chapter) an armed rebellion between partitioned Poland and the Russian Empire. It began when a group of conspirators, led by a cadet from the Warsaw's officers' school took arms from their garrison and attacked Belweder Palace, the seat of the Grand Duke. All of Europe, it seemed, was in revolt at this time – France, Belgium, and now Poland. And because Poland was fighting, Lithuania took up arms too. BUT, the two nations were in completely different political situations. Yes, they had been partitioned, but whereas Poland still had a constitution and small army (under guarantees from the Congress of Vienna), Lithuania was fully incorporated into Russia and had no international guarantees of self-government and no armed forces. So, the Lithuanians who took up arms against the Russians were civilians. The battles were endless and bloody, and to add to the overall demoralization, the military leaders made constant mistakes or changes to plans or just flat out resigned. In the end, many of the rebels from Lithuania either stayed in Prussia or fled to countries further west, such as France and the United Kingdom, rather than risk returning home and be persecuted by the Russians. Following the uprising, not only were the people persecuted, but cultural institutions in Lithuania also faced a backlash. The University of Vilnius was closed, as were some secondary schools, and cultural artifacts and books were taken from Lithuania to Russia.

* * *

_Thank you all for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following this story! I love you stupid bunches!_


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